


Venite, inginocchiatevi ('Come, kneel')

by Birdle



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2P Hetalia, 2P North Italy (Hetalia), Drama, F/M, Family, Italian Mafia, Italiano | Italian, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 15:16:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16452359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdle/pseuds/Birdle
Summary: In rural Italy, a woman and her child have lived happily for a while, until Luciano Vargas (2P Italy) catches up to the mother once more.





	Venite, inginocchiatevi ('Come, kneel')

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> This was meant to be a reader insert, though because it's in first person it could really be anyone! It was more of a test to see how I like writing in first person (I hate it haha). It's a oneshot (again, a test to see if I could actually write a oneshot), though I could be persuaded to carry on the story should anyone want to....
> 
> The idea for this story was strongly inspired at first by blue-yellow-cloud's story on DeviantArt; I just thought the idea was real cool. And the title is a reference to later on in the story (it is one of Susanna's arias, though oddly fitting).

In a tiny village on the northeast coast of Italy, my daughter and I had lived quite peacefully for the years she had been alive. Though not a native of the country, a small summer holiday had turned into lifelong homeland and I had never thought of moving back since. Who wouldn't want the gorgeous vistas, warm seas and beautiful culture? 

It was a day like no other that we begin. Not yet old enough to join school, my daughter, Susanna, was my main interest throughout my days. She was the spitting image of me; from her hair to those tiny toes, the girl could have been my twin were we the same age. And I was grateful that she took after me so much. But yes, it was a fine day and, dressed in long flowing traditional dress, our hair both in braids to the back of our skulls, Susanna and I walked hand in hand across the cornfields which I knew so well. It was always my mission, daily, to give my daughter the fresh mediterranean air: the Lord knows she needed more strength.

Once back onto the cobbled paths of our street, I picked the girl up from the ground as she complained of aching legs, and continued to the tiny, rundown cottage at the end of the road. 

However, there was something not quite right about the situation and I began to feel terribly uneasy. I stopped, depositing Susanna on the floor to whine. And there was certainly something wrong, as, upon further inspection, I viewed a pile of flowers decorating the cold stone step to the cottage. These were expensive flowers, I could tell. And with them, a note, handwritten on fine parchment. 

"Cara dolcezza, 

Mia bella, I intend to visit you soon. Be ready. Even after all this time, ti amo.

Il tuo Luciano"

It caused my stomach to drop, reading 'dear sweet one', 'my beautiful', 'I love you', 'YOUR Luciano'. The nerve of this man! It had been years since we had ever been in contact, let alone seen eachother. And I was perfectly happy without seeing him, thank you very much. In fact, my hands trembled, palms became clammy, and eyes widened in horror. I wanted to burn this letter, pretend I never received it; pretend that this man had not just stalked me and found my house after moving to a miniscule village. Of all Italy, how had he found me so quickly? I was in a right mind to pack my bags this evening and escape once more into the night. I could not let my dear Susanna come to harm, come into contact with the foul-mouthed Luciano who would surely corrupt her.

"Mama, look at these flowers! Aren't they pretty?" My little girl had picked up a bunch of the flowers, staring adoringly at their bright colours and soft scents,

"They are, indeed. Now, come along, we must get dinner cooked."

I began walking inside, stepping over the gift and placing the wicker basket that hung around my elbow, which held fresh tomatoes, on the old table in the middle of the room within,

"Are we not taking the flowers? Oh mama, but they are so beautiful!" Despite her age, Susanna spoke impeccably well in both Italian and my mother tongue already. I sighed, looking back to her still at the doorstep, and resigned to bring her a vase of water so as to collect and place the objects of beauty within it. She began busying herself with arranging the flowers while I walked over to the stove and ignited the flame within it.

The cottage we lived in was modest, but very quaint and old-fashioned. The exposed beams of the ceiling gave it a homey feel, as well as the fireplace which almost always had a roaring fire leading into the evenings so as to warm and light up the place. No, there was not electricity even remotely near to the area. Even the telephone lines were few and far between. And I liked it that way. The further we were from modern civilisation, the further I'd be from him... or so I'd hoped. 

After a while of combining and kneading flour into a lovely pasta dough and mulling over my emotions, it surprised me that I wasn't as upset as I thought I'd be that Luciano had found my hiding place. I was still scared out of my mind, but not ready to leave the house and community I had built around me quite so soon as this. I only hoped that I could protect my daughter for as long as possible; she must not know any of the truth.

"Susanna! Come inside." I could see the girl through the kitchen window; she was busy in our tiny back garden playing all sorts of games that little ones do to amuse themselves. She always enjoyed stirring the tomato sauce that I make so well. I have never told anyone the secrets of that, however.

With her happily mixing the concoction with wooden spoon, I continued to slice up the pasta dough into smaller, actual pasta shaped sizes and placed them into a pot of boiling water.

By now, the house rung with aromas of herbs and fresh ingredients. I loved it. This is why Italy was my favourite place. 

Until my world came crashing down. I knew, when I heard a knock on that old front door, who it would be. And I knew that he was so predictable as to act polite and not burst in, unless I left it for more than a half minute. And lo and behold, there was that knock, just as I had nearly finished preparing dinner. 

Immediately, I panicked and lifted Susanna into the air, rushing to get her upstairs and safe. I murmured quickly and quietly to her that she was to stay upstairs until I told her it was safe to come down. Now, running back down and quite out of breath, I attempted to not look as if I was in a blind state of fear: a deer in the headlights. Before I could reach the bottom of said rickety wooden steps, I eyed the dark man standing below,

"Ciao, bella." He greeted with sly smirk, and I was quite overcome with emotion I could not say more for a moment. He held out a gloved hand and I could not think but to take it and allow him to lead me down to him,

"I have waited so many years to again see you and yet you do not greet me?" He then smiled wonderfully at my shocked, quite afraid face as if he had misread my emotions,

"I-" was all I croaked, before pulling my hand out of his grip and turning towards the kitchen countertop. I felt quite dizzy and leant my floury hands upon its surface, as Luciano wiped his also soiled gloves onto the stark beige militant uniform he so loved to wear.

"Your dinner will burn. Look, I will help you." He began straining the pasta, all the while so softly and gently gazing at my slouched figure,

"I am so happy that you would still remember and cook la ricetta di mia nonna." It was indeed his grandmother's recipe that he had so lovingly cooked for me many a time, until I began to learn it for myself. No other pasta recipe compared.

"And I am happy that you have not run from me again. Although you know the consequences, do you not, amore mio?" Again, a chuckle which veiled a deep and disturbing threat. I knew the consequences perhaps more than others that dared cross this man.

It was as if nothing had changed as he began dishing up portions for both myself and him. I had to stop him from using all of the pasta, which, of course, raised his suspicions tenfold,

"Do you have another lover? Tell me, ragazza! Why is there enough for three in this pot?"

I had subconsciously cooked for more than two people, knowing that this rough Italian would be making a visit, albeit I did not know when. Luciano began working himself up into such a rage, cornering me between sink and his body, and was very nearly ready to brandish his beloved knife at my throat as he once did, when a little petrified squeak from none other than my beloved, Susanna, stopped him in his tracks. He retreated immediately as I ran over to my baby,

"Did I not tell you to wait upstairs, piccolina?" She shivered where she stood at the sight of a scary new stranger, which was quite strange seeing as she so adored meeting newcomers and tourists in this tiny town of ours,

"I heard noises." I picked up the visibly quaking girl and placed her on one hip, sighing,

"I see. Well, dinner is ready! Would you set the table while I make our guest welcome?" I had so hoped that, because once in a while I would have friends from my past life visit, that she would not think much of the intimidating man now standing slightly in the shadows, observing. But she still looked a timid thing as I let her down and she began collecting cutlery to place on the round oak table in the middle of the room. I had now, suddenly, become a calm and collected woman before my daughter, and addressed Luciano clearly,

"Luciano, would you please sit?" 

He did as he was told.

It was one of the most awkward dinners of my life: no one was going to speak, not in front of my little one. And poor Susanna was so puzzled, attempting to understand the situation, that she only stared into the bowl before her and played with the meal. Besides, I was so wound up in saving her from the man that she barely glanced up at him without my somewhat overbearing metaphorical blankets of protection smothering her.

"Clear your plate, Susanna, and then you may play outside."

She did as she was told, although probably did not much feel like playing outside.

As soon as she left through the back door, Luciano's hand was at my throat once more, and this time it was very physical,

"You had a CHILD? A child? And the father, hmm? Who is the father?"

It is a well known fact that one cannot speak if they are being deprived of air. But apparently this rash, rude boy did not know this and became red with rage at my non-reply,

"So you will not tell me? Fine. I will find out myself." Dropping me to the stone cold floor, I gasped and clutched at my neck while he slunk outside to join my daughter. But he underestimated a mother's love for her child, and he would get nowhere near her! I grabbed the nearest harmful appliance, which happened to be the rolling pin in which I rolled the dough, and ran to the opened back door,

"Luci! Arresto!"

He turned round, and was quite surprised at both the ancient nickname that slipped from my mouth, and at the view of my strong eyes and posture.

"Only if you tell me." He took a step closer to Susanna, who was watching us both confusedly and warily,

"I will tell you. Indoors!" He still stood, quite amazed at my fiery personality; I had grown into quite an independent woman when I was not under his 'care',

"Sbrigati!" At my shout, he turned and walked into the cottage, but not before grabbing at my arm roughly and pulling me after him. He let go once we were inside the tiny house; I closed the back door and leant against it, woefully.

"Well?" Luciano tapped his foot impatiently. 

I probably looked quite a sight, then. My careful braids had started to unwind at all this mess; it was a metaphor for my life, if any, coming undone under the watch of this monster. Standing on my own two feet and taking a step away from the door, I took a deep breath and spoke,

"Susanna was born four years ago." I hoped he'd have the sense to infer what I meant, but men are useless at the best of times,

"And?" He stomped in a childlike temper. He always had such a short fuse, especially not getting his way,

"FOUR years ago. Think about it, bruto!" I added that insult 'brute' to my language, knowing full well that would provoke him further, lest he finally understood.

But he understood.

"Four years ago, four years... You cannot tell me that this child was conceived before I got caught? Before you ran from me? No!" And with that, Luciano crumbled before my eyes. I reckon that I would also go into a state of shock if I was told something so life changing as this. But, I am reluctant to make this so life changing to him; he will never be father to Susanna, never.

The once toughened man put his head in his hands and sunk to the floor in a crouch.

I could never deny that, although four years have passed, my emotions felt so strongly for him as ever. I loathed that he still had me under his spell; it was something I dreamed to forget.

And my empathy got the better of me in this moment: having fully undone my hair from its entrapment, I stepped towards the cowering man and placed a gentle hand upon the crown of his head. Apparently this was far too much for Luciano, as, at my touch, he took it as an invitation to then envelop me, clutch at my waist as he shook in shock. I felt moisture through the thin fabric; the great mobster Luciano, at my feet and crying? 

After a while, he looked up from his resting place (which I did not move him from, for fear of punishment), still clutching at my skirts, and again asked a question,

"The name... Susanna?" 

"Si." He rolled back onto his own weight and stood, face to face to my own. His eyes, though naturally reddish in colour, were further reddened, as well as his nose.

"Why?" Our hands interlaced, and I'm not sure how it happened but I was back against the garden door, trapped once more between an object and this cruel, cruel man,

"La Nozze di Figaro. That opera by Mozart? You wouldn't know, but after I ran, I got caught up with an opera company who performed it across the country. They gave me a small role, Barbarina, and I was understudy for Susanna. I always loved that role." My breathing had shortened considerably; I would say, through positive emotions, but Luciano was far too overbearing for me to feel anything more than fear at this current moment,

"You say I wouldn't know, vita mia, but I used to have someone follow you. They knew where you had been, who you had talked to. I lost you after two years, I think." He placed that gloved hand under my chin and pulled it up to his eyesight, which was just slightly higher than mine. I stared, quite frightened yet defiantly, into those eyes which had now once again hardened,

"It took them... well, not them (they were surely killed), another of my henchmen, two more years to find you. I could escape from prison whenever I wished..." Luciano, still gripping my chin, squeezed his hand so that my lips puckered, and brought his so close that they grazed mine,

"...But, I thought to myself, it would never be worth escaping without... without returning to you."


End file.
